An Unplanned Accident
by E.B.isme
Summary: Darcy and Elizabeth have been married for three months. they are just returning from their honeymoon in Ireland. This is about their carriage ride home, and the emotional journey afterwards...inspired by Snow Patrol: Headlights on Dark Roads
1. Chapter 1: not expected

Author's note: No matter what happens, read on. if you keep reading, i promise, it will be worth it. Review!

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"Fitzwilliam, darling, what an abominable remark! I have a mind about me to punish you for saying such a thing," Elizabeth Darcy eyed her husband with mock consternation.

Fitzwilliam Darcy smiled, chuckling to himself. He pulled his wife closer to him in an embrace. They were on their way home from their honeymoon in Ireland, having just been married three months ago. Her family was expected in a couple weeks, neither of them were much looking forward to it.

"My pet, you know very well I was jesting."

"I do know, just as you know I was teasing. Shall we forgive each other?" Elizabeth asked, a smile dancing on her lips. Fitzwilliam leaned down and kissed her.

"Of course, we couldn't have your parents in the house when we are cross with each other. Think of what your mother would say." They shared a rousing round of laughter.

"Where I would be right now if I had not met you, I do not wish to think." Fitzwilliam leaned down a second time to kiss his wife.

"I would rather not either. You would undoubtedly be engaged to Miss DeBourgh," Elizabeth shot back.

"Like I said, I would rather we not think such unpleasant thoughts. But do not be jealous, darling, I would never have caved to my aunt's nonsensical whims."

"You know this how? You would have done anything she asked, if she said your parents would have wished it."

"That is certainly not true! I know what my parents would or would not wish me to do."

"Yes, but you would have been easily convinced by her lies." Elizabeth was getting more and more cross with every defendant remark he made. He, in turn, was disheartened by her lack of faith in him. Both were displeased with the other.

"It is nice to see your apparent faith in me _and_ my aunt. Granted, she has never been my favorite relative, but I do have some respect for her."

"I am not saying anything derogatory of her; I simply do not trust all of her advice."

"I have never known my aunt to tell a direct lie. She makes mistakes."

"I do not wish to discuss this any longer; you fail to see the truth." Elizabeth turned her head to look out the window.

Fitzwilliam glared at her. "I resent that."

There was an odd noise, like the sound of a wobbly wheel. A banging noise followed. Fitzwilliam looked out his window. What he saw did not frighten him, but he could not have predicted what happened next. The carriage wheel had become loose and was hitting the side of the carriage.

"What is it?" Elizabeth started to cross the carriage to see out the window, but it jolted. She was sent flying out the door, the force of her knocking against it had caused it to open. She rolled over into the ditch, motionless. Another jolt and the snap of the carriage wheel. The carriage tipped onto its side. Fitzwilliam got up and climbed out the door, which was now above him. The driver had fallen off his seat and banged his head against the ground. He was dead. The horse lay on its side, neighing loudly. Fitzwilliam went to him, released him, and sent him on his way, galloping through the woods. He then went to find Elizabeth. She was laying face down in the ditch not far off from the upturned carriage. He turned her over and gasped. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Wake up, Elizabeth! Damn it, wake up, Elizabeth! Wake up, wake up! Elizabeth, darling, it's okay, I'm here." Her breathing became even more shallow and rasping. He watched her for a while, waiting. He rubbed his hand up against her cheek. A few tears leaked unnoticed from his eyes, they trickled down his cheeks and slipped off his chin.

He gasped involuntarily. She had stopped breathing.

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Keep reading!!! Please!!!! its gets better!!! I PROMISE!!!!! how could i write that if it didn't turn out all right?! 


	2. Chapter 2: revelations

Hey! i've come to alleviate ur pain! read...and Review!

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Fitzwilliam's heart skipped several beats. His countenance paled further. His breath became shallower. He reached out his hand, groping for his wife's. He absent-mindedly rubbed his thumb back and forth across the palm of her hand. He morosely closed his eyes for a moment, tears warning to overflow. When they opened, he saw the rise and fall of her chest. His heart leapt for joy, pulse quickening. Relief swept through his body, making him tremble. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words could be summoned. He licked his lips to try again.

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth, are you alright? Darling, speak." His voice was hoarse and wavering. He bided his time, waiting for a response. Fitzwilliam stroked her forehead, checked her pulse, all the while still grasping her hand. Her breathing became less shallow; some small amount of color returned to her visage; a pulse was detectable.

"Elizabeth, can you hear me? Wake up, darling, you will be alright, that I will ensure. Speak, Elizabeth, if you are capable. The sun is coming out, I am sure you feel it. Oh, Elizabeth, you must wake. Whatever will I do without you?"

Now the tears did fall. Unchecked as they were, he continued speaking words of comfort to the unconscious Elizabeth, though she did not hear them. The chirping of nearby birds roused him from his meditation. He looked across the horizon. The sun had receded behind the clouds and dark was beginning to fall. Fitzwilliam rechecked her pulse. It was steadily becoming more prominent. He released her hand to stand. Pemberley was in sight; why had he not noticed this before? Shouldering Elizabeth he strode towards Pemberley.

He reached Pemberley in a matter of hours. By that time the sun had set and the night air cooled. They were quite the sight to be seen, emerging from the darkness; him with his torn pant knees, tousled hair, and haggard look; her, unconscious, dirt-streaked, and limp. Indeed, Mrs. Reynolds had been worried about them and their unkempt appearance deranged her more.

"M-Mr. Darcy, you are here! Oh, Lord! Mr. Darcy what have they done to you?! A-and Mrs. Darcy! Is she dead? Good God Almighty, what has happened to you? We heard a loud noise, no one is sure what, and then you never returned! I did not know what to think! Pray, what has happened to you?" Mrs. Reynolds greeted them hysterically. She put her hand to her heaving chest, watching him avidly as she spoke.

"Please, let us tend to Mrs. Darcy before we begin reminiscing. She has not moved in several hours, though her pulse has increased steadily. Please, ready our bed and send for the doctor. I know not what condition she is in." Fitzwilliam, still holding Elizabeth, looked down at her with no small amount of worry.

"Of course! How silly of me to overlook that. Your bed ought to be made already; I shall box Sara's ears if it isn't. I will send for the doctor directly. You head on up." Mrs. Reynolds rushed off to send for the doctor, muttering incoherently under her breath as she did.

Fitzwilliam carried Elizabeth off to bed, laying her down gently as he did so. Smoothing her hair back from her forehead, he gazed at her face. She did not appear to be in pain, though it was screwed up as if disturbed by something. He caressed her cheek, admiring the soft blush covering her features. Pulling himself away from her, he hoisted the covers up to her chin. Looking at her mournfully, he turned and went to inquire after the doctor.

"Well, Mr. Darcy, I hate to be the one to tell you this, it is obvious you are very attached to your wife, and you have not yet been married six months. But, Mr. Darcy please bear with me, your wife seems to have suffered from severe head trauma. Most likely, she will not wake for some time, because…your wife is in a coma. She may not emerge for days, weeks, months, or even years. There have been cases where the person has never wakened, but I have never seen one; they are extremely rare. She may or may not hear you, and she may or may not respond to anything. There is no way to tell when this state shall pass. My guess is, by looking at the severity of her injury, a month." The nice doctor tried to smile kindly at the shocked man before him, but was stopped by the look in his face.

Fitzwilliam could not believe his ears. Elizabeth, his Elizabeth, in a coma! And there was a slight possibility she may never wake up! He might spend the rest of his life caring after a non-responsive wife. They would never have children, he would be all to himself in his lonely mansion. She would wake up years later to find an old man sitting at her bedside, her whole life gone by. Rousing himself from these evil thoughts, he gaped at the doctor, an expression of pure incredulity on his countenance. The horror of it overwhelmed him, still, and barely did he believe it. Mere hours ago they were joking, teasing, and laughing together, not a solemn thought to trouble them. Now, they might not share that again. Forcing himself to close his mouth, Fitzwilliam sank in to the nearest chair, head in his hands. His shoulders heaved in silent sobs that shook all his body.

The kind doctor peered at this silent expression of grief, and, perceiving there to be no more reason for his presence at the moment, left. As a precaution, however, he was to stay at the mysterious Pemberley, performing daily check-ups and what-not to detect any impending complications which may occur.

Fitzwilliam heard the doctor sigh, and close the door soundly behind him. He continued in his grief for several more minutes, his supply of tears exhausted. Raising his head from his hands, he looked at Elizabeth. Even when she was in such a state, a state from which she may never arouse, she looked beautiful. Getting up, he unbraided her hair, arranging neatly on her pillow. Planting a quick kiss on her cheek, he bid her goodnight, promising to come back as soon as he could in the morning.

That night he could not sleep. Tossing and turning in his bed, Fitzwilliam lay awake until the early hours of the morning. He could not help but think of Elizabeth, ill, lying alone in the chamber next door. This was the first time they had slept apart since their wedding three months ago. It was a small amount of time to be married, for sure, though it did not feel so to them. He missed her presence beside him as he slept; their bed seemed immense without it.

The sun had just risen when Fitzwilliam got up out of bed. Forgetting the incident of last night, he looked around confusedly, searching for his wife. It all came back to him in but a moment. Dressing in a hurry, lest he should encounter an unsuspecting member of the household, he almost forgot his shirt. With all the anticipation welling up within him, it took great self control to not fling the door open and run to her side. Instead, he quiescently slipped in, nearly tip-toeing to her bed.

She was still sleeping as soundly as when he had left her. Elizabeth's countenance was more peaceful and rested then before, a expression of perfect calm. Her flush had deepened, making her look more ill and feverish than he had last noticed.

Leaning down beside her bed, Fitzwilliam took her hand in his. Resting his head on the edge of the bed, Fitzwilliam thought of their past three months together. It was full of happy memories and many firsts. He could still see her beam at him as the Reverend pronounced them man and wife. He saw her family wave as they were packed into the carriage. A thousand images came to mind, all increasing his distress.

Lack of sleep and incessant worry had exhausted him immeasurably. After only ten minutes of his sorrowful reflection, he fell back to sleep.

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YAY! how did u like it? tell me, review. **and if u want to see wat stories i will come up with next and vote for them, just review and tell me which one. check my profile.**


	3. Chapter 3: A Tale to Tell

A/N: HEY!!!!! Sry it took sooo loong to get this one out, had a big project to work on. But it's out!!!! R+R!

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When Fitzwilliam awoke the sun was just coming up over the trees. Rubbing his eyes, he stood and went to the window. The light was blinding, but once he became accustomed to it, the grounds looked beautiful. He rested his head against the window pane, feeling the cool glass on his forehead. A small hiccup was issued from behind him, and Fitzwilliam turned to gaze at the small figure lying in bed.

It was almost noon and the light fell across her pillow, illuminating her sleeping countenance. Elizabeth's hair was in disarray, it had just started to come loose from its plait. Her lips formed the tiniest of smiles; Fitzwilliam hoped it was for him, if indeed she was thinking of him.

He felt irresistibly drawn to her. Sitting on the bed, he ran his thumb up and down her cheek bone. It struck him that Mrs. Reynolds still had not heard what happened that day. Indubitably, she knew of her present condition, but the events surrounding her injury must be a mystery. Fitzwilliam was not looking forward to discussing with her this particular event, it seemed almost a fantasy to him, a long-ago event. Mentally dragging himself away from Elizabeth's bedside, he went to seek Mrs. Reynolds. She would undoubtedly be surprised and some what shocked at what had come about, but this was nothing to be helped. Wishing for strength, Fitzwilliam prepared himself to speak aloud what had haunted his dreams these past nights.

Peeking into the kitchen, a place he did not often occupy, Fitzwilliam scanned the room for Mrs. Reynolds's familiar form. Seeing no one, he took a turn around the hallway before nearly running into Mrs. Reynolds.

"Mr. Darcy! Do you require my assistance?" Mrs. Reynolds exclaimed, hesitantly casting him a concerned glance.

"You wished to know of what happened the other day." Mr. Darcy replied nearly deadpan, any attempt at politeness would have been futile. This was not held against him by the recipients of his grim mood. Rather, they felt for him. He was so obviously injured by the events of late, that they did not disturb him, catering, unseen, to all his needs. Fitzwilliam took no visible note of their kindness.

"Well, Mr. Darcy," said Mrs. Reynolds maternally. "You need not speak it aloud if you would rather. I should not like to inconvenience you."

"No, you need to know, and I am sure wish to as well." All the kindly housekeeper could do in response to this was stutter. Fitzwilliam took her silence for granted.

"Let us retire to the study, if you will, Mrs. Reynolds. I do not wish to be overheard. Sit, please. We were riding in the carriage, and had just finished arguing. About what, I do not recollect. _It_ can be of no importance. We heard the wheel knocking against the carriage…" Fitzwilliam continued his narrative uninterrupted, some thing Mrs. Reynolds worked hard at to ensure. She was shocked immensely at how easily it all came about. She would order all the carriages checked for defects, they certainly didn't want another incident like this.

"…so we ended up here. I feel very certain in the assumption that you know the events from hitherto and after." Fitzwilliam finished, slumping his shoulders ever-so slightly.

"Yes, and it plagues me. O my, Mr. Darcy! If it is of some comfort to you, I have noticed Mrs. Darcy to be improving; why just five minutes ago she was tapping her finger on the comforter. Really, this state will not last long, and then she shall be up and on her feet. But, my I suggest something, Mr. Darcy?"

"You do not require my permission to suggest some thing to me. Pray what is your advice?" Fitzwilliam tilted his head a small degree to the side, and looked at his housekeeper with a combination of quizzicality and expectancy. Mrs. Reynolds took this as an improvement to the grim, mourning Fitzwilliam she had seen lately. Fidgeting with her wedding ring, she replied-

"I would suggest you send for a more acclaimed doctor, perhaps one with more experience with, with conditions like the one that ails Mrs. Darcy. His conjecture would perchance be more accurate." Mrs. Reynolds was very careful in her avoidance of mentioning the true name of Mrs. Darcy's condition. She was not certain of his reaction if it was specified directly.

Fitzwilliam hardly required a moment to think it over. "Do you know of any such physician? I should like to know where to locate such a person."

Mrs. Reynolds' countenance light up at the thought of it. "Why yes, Mr. Darcy, I do. My brother-in-law is a very well-to-do doctor who has traveled all over studying the condition. If any one, he could certainly help. Do you wish for me to contact him?" This time Mrs. Reynolds evasively did not name the word aloud. She beamed at the fact of it.

"Yes, if you will. If he accepts, tell him to be here as quick as he possibly can. I cannot endure this anticipation any longer." With this final comment, he curtly turned on his heel and, running his hands through his hair, left the room.

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A/N: so, so? tell me wat u think. and if you have any ideas about what i should write next, check out my profile page!!!!!!!!please, send me a Personal Message and tell me which one!!!! i'm dying here!!!

Yea, so, please? puppy dog eyes yea, if not, thanx for reading...


	4. Chapter 4: dusty Old Tomes

A/N: so, here's the next chapter! Document loader finally worked...enjoy! hopefully u can tell when R+J ends and P+P begins...

**Disclaimer: Romeo and Juliet passages NOT written by me; i'm not that smart...xD**

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Fitzwilliam strode towards the adjoining bedroom where Elizabeth resided currently, still in the ever-agitating slumber. Upon reaching the doorway, he hesitated; changing his mind he redirected his path towards the library. Easing into a chair, Fitzwilliam glanced around him. The drapes had been pulled open, the dust in the air drifting in the light. The maroon carpet seemed dull to Fitzwilliam's eyes; a continual depression could not bring to life the intricate pattern woven there. Eyes wandering up, Fitzwilliam surveyed the queue of books lining the wall. Thousands of dusty old tomes lay untouched, spines dust-coated. 

He moved his elbow to a more comfortable position, or tried; his elbow slipped, sending a whole pile of books to the floor. Bending down, Fitzwilliam picked up the books, stacking them like before. Browsing through the pile, he spotted a book that had the aspect of one read often. Turning in over in his hand, he found it to be a favorite of Mrs. Reynolds'. _Romeo and Juliet_, Mrs. Reynolds used to read it in the summer months, when, as she said, the weather reflected that of Verona. He had many childhood memories of her reading it, trying to decipher the hidden meanings of Shakespeare's masterpiece. He had often heard passages from it, when he was young and filled with inquiries.

The book fell open to a book-marked page, one where Mrs. Reynolds had presumably left off reading it the previous year. Curious, Fitzwilliam read-

'News from Verona!—How now, Balthasar?

Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?

How doth my lady? Is my father well?

How fares my Juliet? That I ask again,

For nothing can be ill if she be well.'

Fitzwilliam, curious, read Balthasar's reply-

'Then she be well, and nothing can be ill.

Her body sleeps in Capel's monument,

And her immortal part with angels lives.

I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault

And presently took post to tell it you.

O, pardon me for bringing these ill news,

Since you did leave it for my office, sir.'

'Is it e'en so? Then I defy you, stars!

Thou know'st my lodging. Get me ink and paper,

And hire post horses. I will hence tonight.'

'I do beseech you, sir, have patience.

Your looks are pale and wild, and do import

Some misadventure.'

'Tush, thou art deceived.

Leave me and do the thing I bid thee do.

Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?'

'No, my good lord.'

'No matter. Get thee gone,

And hire those horses. I'll be with thee straight.

Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee tonight.

Let's see for means. O, mischief, thou art swift

To enter in the thoughts of desperate men!

I do remember an apothecary—

And hereabouts he dwells— which late I noted

In tattered weeds, with overwhelming brows,

Culling of simples. Meager were his looks,

Sharp misery had worn him to the bones,

And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,

An alligator stuffed, and other skins

Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves

A beggarly account of empty boxes,

Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds,

Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses,

Were thinly scattered to make up a show.

Noting this penury to myself I said,

"If a man did need poison now"—

Whose sale is present death in Mantua—

"Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it to him."

Oh, this same thought did but forerun my need,

And this same needy man must sell it to me,

As I remember, this should be the house.

Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.

What, ho! Apothecary!'

Fitzwilliam still read on, now wholly engrossed in the ever-popular storyline. He read through the sale of poison, the return of the letter, and the fight betwixt Romeo and Paris; 'til, running his hands through his hair, he reached the murder of faithful Paris-

'A grave? Oh no. A lantern, slaughtered youth,

For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes

This vault a feasting presence full of light.

Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interred.

How oft when men are at the point of death

Have they been merry, which their keepers call

A lightning before death! Oh, how may I

Call this a lightning?—O my love, my wife!

Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath,

Hath no power yet upon thy beauty.

Thou art not conquered. Beauty's ensign

Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,

And death's pale flag is not advancéd there.—

Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?

O, what more favor can I do thee,

Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain

To sunder his that was thine enemy?

Forgive me, cousin—Ah, dear Juliet,

Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe

That unsubstantial death is amorous,

And that the lean abhorréd monster keeps

Thee here in the dark to be his paramour?

For fear of that, I still will stay with thee,

And never from this palace of dim night

Depart again. Here, here will I remain

With worms that are thy chamber maids. Oh, here

Will I set up my everlasting rest,

And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars

From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last.

Arms, take your last embrace. And, lips, O you

The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss

A dateless bargain to engrossing death.'

Romeo kisses Juliet and drinks the poison

'Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavory guide.

Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on

The dashing rocks thou seasick, weary bark.

Here's to my love! O true apothecary,

Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.'

Fitzwilliam's eyes widened in shock, for, though he knew the story, he could not have grasped how truly desperate a man must be to take his own life. Exhaling, he read on, now determined to reach the finish.

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A/N: so? sorry you had to read so much R+J, but you can really start to see some similarities. hopefully after i'm done with the Romoe andf Juliet reading, it will stop being so completely angsty... 


	5. Chapter 5: Peculiar Thoughts

A/N: Sorry this is so short, but a lot happens. And, YAY!, it's not so sad anymore. Y'all will be mad at me for this, but, trust me, i have genius plans...O, and i'm going to see our high school production of Romeo and Juliet tomorrow, how's that for coincidences? xD

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'Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains 

The stony entrance of the sepulcher?

What mean these masterless and gory swords

To lie discolored by this place of peace?

Romeo! O, pale!—Who else? What, Paris too?

And steeped in blood?—Ah, what an unkind hour

Is guilty of this lamentable chance!

The lady stirs.

O comfortable Friar! Where is my lord?

I do remember well where I should be,

And there I am. Where is my Romeo?

I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest

Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep.

A greater power than we can contradict

Hath thwarted out intents. Come, come away

Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead,

And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee

Among a sisterhood of holy nuns.

Stay not to question, for the watch is coming.

Come, go, good Juliet. I dare no longer stay.

Go, get thee hence, for I will not away.—

What's here? A cup, closed in my true love's hand?

Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end.—

O churl, drunk all, and left no friendly drop

To help me after? I will kiss thy lips.

Haply some poison yet doth hang on them,

To make me die with a restorative.

Thy lips are warm.

Lead, boy. Which way?

Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief. O happy dagger,

This is thy sheath. There rust and let me die.'

Slowly shutting the book, Fitzwilliam looked up into the glaring light of the sun. Going to the window, Fitzwilliam rubbed his forehead in meditation. Reflecting on his reading, a peculiar thought came to him. The circumstances in which both Romeo and Juliet lost their lives was one in which he was living. This thought began him thinking.

He must have the strength to endure the passage until Mrs. Darcy awoke. It would not do to worry himself to derangement. Elizabeth was destined to wake, no matter how shortly or belatedly she was foreordained to do so. He was not required to be lighthearted, cheery, or festive in any way. However, he was obliged to continue on with all other aspects of his life.

Leaving the window, Fitzwilliam went to his study. There, he began completing all the business ventures he had dismissed from his mind at the time of their wedding. Contemplating and studying a motley assortment of proposals, documents, letters, and other such items took the duration of many hours. The sun had set a number of hours previously, and Fitzwilliam's eyes were squinting at the letter before him out of sheer exhaustion. Attempting to organize his desk in the dark, Fitzwilliam traced the often employed path to his bedchamber. Sinking into bed, Fitzwilliam felt that something was not right.

Fitzwilliam abided by a regulated schedule for several more days, finally becoming so emotionally drained that he broke the set pattern that ruled his days. Taking a ride through Pemberley, he felt as if he had not seen the light of day for quite some time. Lounging on the lawn, Fitzwilliam stared out at the lake. The sun reflected off the rippled water; an image he might have forgotten, had he stayed indoors any longer. Basking in the sun, he closed his eyes for a moment. Opening them once again, Fitzwilliam found half the day to have passed by.

Fitzwilliam remembered describing to Elizabeth the beauties of Pemberley. She was genuinely anticipating the days on the lawn he had promised her, and the remembrance of his promise filled him with chagrin. Saddling up, he set out to visit his unconscious wife.

Passing by the parlor, he heard Mrs. Reynolds conversing with herself. This was not a sight often seen, indeed, Fitzwilliam had never known Mrs. Reynolds in all of their acquaintance to possess this interesting quality. Stopping to inquire the purpose of her befuddling mood, Fitzwilliam was nearly about to enter, when she mentioned his name.

"…dear me, what is to become of us? Mr. Darcy will never concede that he is being distant for no plausible reason. O, when Mrs. Darcy awakes, she will not be pleased with the state her husband has happened into. This is not what I would have pictured their first few months of marriage to be like; and I hazard a presumption that they did not either. Would to heaven that any thing could be either said or done on my part, that might prevent further disappointments- However, this matter must be revisited later, I fully expect Mr. Darcy to return to work, and I dare not be found discussing with myself his affairs. I ought to oversee Sara in her duties…" Mrs. Reynolds trailed off, muttering undoubtedly about household chores. Fitzwilliam slipped away unnoticed, heading to his room to mull over what he had heard.

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A/N: So? REVIEW! please! i never seem to get reviews any more, it makes me feel so abandoned...and check out my profile to keep updated on my stories. AND, i have neat future story ideas CHECK THEM OUT! 


	6. Chapter 6: Puppeteers

A/N: Ok, i know you dont always do this if you are in a coma, but it just makes things interesting. And i'm sorry if there are things i'm overlooking in this story, i am trying. But, rite now, i'm just happy to be updating. REVIEW! or i wont update in a month or something equally cruel. Without further ado...

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Sitting down gently on the bed, Fitzwilliam reflected on the musings of his housekeeper. He was being distant for 'no plausible reason'? Mrs. Darcy 'will not be pleased with the state her husband has happened into'? Fitzwilliam did not know what to make of these speculations.

He could confess that he had not spent much time attending to Elizabeth in the past couple days, indeed he had hardly the time to spare her a thought. He had been too occupied with his business dealings; reading them, thinking through them, and executing their requests and necessities. He had never visited other parts of Pemberley, besides his study and his room. This would not do.

Contemplating this, Fitzwilliam came to a satisfactory conclusion. He would compromise with himself; he would tend to Elizabeth and care for her, but he would not spend all his time with her, allowing himself to fall back into a depressed state of mind. He could not permit himself to return to the dejected condition from which he had recently transcended. He would retain his positive frame of mind.

Getting up, he strode to the door separating his bedroom from Elizabeth's. Wrenching it open, he stepped inside only to stop. She was still laying there, hardly moved from the last time he laid eyes on her. She had regained most of the color in her face and her hair had long since been arranged. She was as beautiful as when he had first seen her. Struck by this, Fitzwilliam knelt down beside her. Holding her hand, he softly began to cry.

The next morning, Mrs. Reynolds' brother-in-law arrived. He was warmly received by Mrs. Reynolds and Fitzwilliam; the former was very pleased at his consent to visit Pemberley, while the latter was pleased for an entirely different reason. Fitzwilliam had been anxiously waiting for the diagnosis which only an expert on the subject could give; only then could he rest easy at night.

Dr. Jarvis insisted on examining the patient the instant their welcome was concluded. This was a favorable objective in the eyes of all concerned. After checking her pulse, taking her temperature, examining her eyes, and ascertaining her capability of response, Dr. Jarvis held a private conference with Mrs. Reynolds. His demeanor was a serious one, full of worry and disquiet. This quite threw the faithful housekeeper; _she_ had not perceived there to be any thing of great concern about the mistress. However, this was not what troubled the good doctor.

"Mrs. Reynolds, I know of your master's ailments, I paid special mind to them when you wrote me. On my journey here, I reflected on what you had occasion to write. No!-You were perfectly justified in your missive; any amiable soul would have felt the same. Conclusively, I have a notion of what needs to be done in order to return your Mr. Darcy to his former state of mind; I am not speaking of incessant distress, mind you, more the consciousness with which he views his bride. Here is my proposition…"

Dr. Jarvis and Mrs. Reynolds reentered, both appearing grave; though, it may be observed that the latter had a fidgety look about her.

Dr. Jarvis, regarding Fitzwilliam with a critical eye, said, "Mr. Darcy, I regret to inform you that your wife has taken a turn for the worse. Internally, her bodily systems are putting up a fight. Although she appears to be in good condition, it is only a matter of time before the illness prevails. The only thing we can do is to wait and see; I am able to remain with you, if you so please. I assume your current doctor does not want for patients; it would be advisable to send him on."

Confused and more than mildly concerned, Fitzwilliam meditated over what Dr. Jarvis had communicated. "Dr. Jarvis, while I respect your expertise, I cannot help but question what you have said, therefore, please enlighten me on some thing. You said, 'it is only a matter of time before the illness prevails.' Pray tell what you mean by this, I had no knowledge of the…illness having any other side effects, excepting the ones obvious to the eye. And, also, I hope it would not inconvenience you to have Dr. Radcliff remain where he is; I wish to have the opinion of multiple doctors. Please tell me what you should think of this."

"In answer to your first question, it is not a well-known fact, but comas are wont to produce issues internally, especially pertaining to the organs. This knowledge can only be comprehended by those whom have studied the illness as much as I. Dr. Radcliff's remaining will not hinder me in my work. I could have no issue with him. As I can visibly see your distress, sir, excuse me if I depart. Mrs. Reynolds, it might be best if you follow." Shutting the door after them, the two could only rejoice in their success.

Fitzwilliam's days now held a sort of purpose: to see Elizabeth up and well. He strode with confidence now; working in the mornings, spending his afternoons consulting Mrs. Reynolds and others about household matters, and passing his evenings with Elizabeth. These evenings were the culmination of his day.

Mrs. Darcy _seemed_ vastly improved; she often flinched when he held her hand, or tossed in bed, mumbling things not understood. On one such occasion, she said aloud his name.

"Lizzy? Lizzy are you awake? Come, Lizzy, I know you are capable of hearing." Gazing thoughtfully at her face, Fitzwilliam did not perceive any thing to be changed about her, and promptly dropt his attempts at waking her. However, it was yet to be repeated.

"…Darcy…"

"Lizzy? Elizabeth, wake up…" Again, she was not altered in appearance or behaviors. Fitzwilliam lost hope of her waking immediately.

Unbeknownst to Fitzwilliam, Mrs. Reynolds had spoke of his dejection to more than one person. She had felt it was wrong of him, even in his ignorance of the issue, to keep Mrs. Bingley unaware of her sister's condition. As a solution, she had secretly sent a letter to the Bingleys, explaining all that had occurred. A response had been sent, conveying their inexplicable distress. Fitzwilliam was, of course forgiven for forgetting to convey the incident to others. They did not think to impose on them by insisting on visiting; and neither did they impart the news to Mrs. Bennet or any of family, for fear or causing too much distress. As for a lack of communication between the two parties which must naturally ensue from Elizabeth's unconsciousness, they had thought to explain after her waking. Though they did not know when this was to be, they put faith in the belief that it would be soon.

Now, the Bingleys had been thinking of a way to distract Fitzwilliam from his wife's indisposition. Thus, they sent to him an invitation to visit for sennight, making it seem as if they had no knowledge of Elizabeth. Hesitant though he was that he should miss seeing Elizabeth if she should wake, Fitzwilliam accepted, knowing himself that he needed refuse from the current tension of Pemberley. Setting out, he did not know how many people were playing puppeteers.

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A/N: So? REVIEW, please!!! and, check out my profile for future story ideas. vote, and the one with th most votes wins. rite now, things are tied, vote and solidify my choice. have a good day! 


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